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A sugary Christmas fantasy? Yes – and I love it, actually: a defence of Richard Curtis's 2003 romcom

Happy ending: Hugh Grant and Martine McCutcheon in Love Actually - www.alamy.com
Happy ending: Hugh Grant and Martine McCutcheon in Love Actually - www.alamy.com

One of my favourite festive traditions is to snuggle up on the sofa with a full glass and an even fuller stomach to watch Love Actually. Richard Curtis’s 2003 romantic comedy, which tells nine different love stories and stars every famous actor you care to think of, is perfectly silly and totally delightful.

For millions of us, it is as much a part of Christmas as brandy butter or bread sauce. And the good news is, it’s now on Netflix – if you happen to miss the endless screenings on ITV2.

But while the film holds a place in the national imagination, it is not an uncontroversial one. In fact, it is difficult to think of another film that inspires quite this much hatred in some, while providing comfort and joy for so many others. 

In recent years, Love Actually has been condemned for being, among other things, cynical, creepy, sexist and fat-shaming. Yes, really.

The violent backlash began in 2013 when an article titled: “I Re-watched Love Actually and Am Here to Ruin it for All of You”, appeared on Jezebel, the feminist website.

Writer Lindy West picked apart each storyline and came to some quite bizarre conclusions. She likened the relationship between Aurelia (Lucia Moniz), a Portuguese maid, and Jamie (Colin Firth), a British novelist who has fled to France to escape his cheating wife, to “human trafficking”. Meanwhile Mark (Andrew Lincoln), the chap who declares his love for his best friend’s wife (Keira Knightley) via cue cards, is called “a f------ psychopath”.

It goes on. There’s the suggestion that the film fat-shames Martine McCutcheon’s character, Natalie, who works for and falls in love with David, the prime minister (Hugh Grant), and who is described at one point as “chubby” by one of the PM’s staffers. 

Lucia Moniz and Colin Firth 
Lucia Moniz and Colin Firth

Perhaps best of all, though, is West’s declaration that Heathrow airport, where the film starts and ends, is not, in fact, where loved ones reunite, but rather “a bleak, empathy-stripped cathedral of turgid bureaucracy”. Merry Christmas, everyone.

Elsewhere, a hatchet job on US news site The Atlantic, published in the same year, and entitled “Love Actually is the Least Romantic Film of All Time”, attacks the film because, “not only do people fall in love without really knowing one another, but they don’t even need to learn anything about each other to confirm their initial attraction”.

Such pieces have, inevitably, unleashed swarms of armchair critics. You only have to look at Twitter every December to understand how many people watch Love Actually simply as an excuse to launch their own attacks. 

Hang on a minute, though. This is all a bit unfair, isn’t it? By and large, these criticisms just don’t stand up. 

Chart-topper: ageing rock star Billy Mack (Bill Nighy), in Curtis’s 2003 romcom
Chart-topper: ageing rock star Billy Mack (Bill Nighy), in Curtis’s 2003 romcom

The idea that Aurelia’s treatment by Jamie is equal to “human trafficking” hinges on the argument that, “Firth shows up in France and this woman gets dropped off and he ‘falls in love with her’ even though they cannot communicate.” But to put it another way, it’s actually a rather sweet (if, OK, credibility-stretching) reflection of how connections can form in the most intangible and mysterious ways. 

And, while I accept that Mark’s doorstep declaration of love is a little strange, what he says afterwards, as he walks away, is, “Enough, enough now.” A “f------ psychopath” or just a person coming to terms with the fact that their love is unrequited? As for fat-shaming, surely the joke is how unwarranted the term “chubby” is, hence the “would we call her chubby?” from Grant immediately afterwards.

Doorstop declaration: Andrew Lincoln as Mark
Doorstop declaration: Andrew Lincoln as Mark

This hatred of Love Actually speaks of a worrying new tendency to over-analyse entertainment that really doesn’t warrant it. Love Actually is not a political statement or a “How to” guide to falling in love. It is a sugary Christmas fiction, flawed but lovable, that should be gorged upon like Quality Street. Must we pick apart every storyline and character and berate them for their failure to be perfect? 

Curtis recently said that the original plan was for two films but in the end he decided to “just have the best scenes from 10 films”. It is a mistake, then, to judge Love Actually, of all films, by naturalistic standards, since everything has been sped up in order to get to each grand romantic gesture as quickly as possible. If some nuance is lost along the way, well, that’s hardly surprising.

The Love Actually cast, then and now: in pictures
The Love Actually cast, then and now: in pictures

What we have here is a piece of fantasy. An ageing rock star, not a talent show winner, reaches Christmas number one. A school Nativity play features a lobster. And the prime minister has a pretty good sense of humour. Holding Love Actually to account for its lack of realism is like asking why Harry Potter doesn’t get splinters in his backside.